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Best Poems Written by R.A. Marschall

Below are the all-time best R.A. Marschall poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Love Beyond Comprehension

She sat in the moonlight, her back to the bay,
Absorbed in thoughts of her own destruction.
A fortnight ago she had come to the rock;
At the break in the surf where the eddies pooled -
A night set afire by a bright blue moon.
As the surge crashed the rocks, the mist wet her face;
The dampness of the sea, like a petrichor.
Something other than the real presence of life;
A spirit or embodiment she could feel.
As she leaned into the soft spray of the sea,
She made out his form moving slowly towards her -
Not making a sound, like a leaf in the wind.
Sensing love beyond mortal comprehension,
She was drawn, into his embrace of passion.
Her mind whirled in the rapture of the moment,
As she was drawn ever further to his arms.
Voices like angels echoed on the seashore;
As the Heaven's grew brighter, she kissed his lips
Swaying in the endearment of her pleasure,
Giving a way to an enchantment unheard.
The surf splashed on the soft, wet sands, sending waves,
Over the water's bottom in rounded shapes.
What was unsaid more than spoke volumes that eve,
Eyes though unseen, peered deeply into her heart.
This strange man from perhaps yet another world,
Giving vent to a love, she cannot fathom.
An apparition lovely, yet sinister;
A figment in the night without any form.
Why was it she who stumbled, and found new love;
Was this a ghost of her imagination?
Yet somehow she feels his soft, warm embraces;
Somehow she could sense an omnipotent love.
He is her confidente, soulmate, new age friend;
She could never escape from these bonds so strong.
The sea stings her face, salt sends tears to her eyes.
She faces the moon, sees the smile on his face.
She knows now her destiny - what she must do;
Holding his hand they'll walk as one to the sea.

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Legend of the Sand Dune Princess

Legends of the seas,
    Washed up on the white, crystalline shores,
Countless untold stories,
    Unlocking new doors.

If each shell was able to tell its own tale
    In the wash of the tides, in the wind and the gales.
A story of a princess in the sand dunes of time,
    Locked in an oblivion, of a world without rhyme.

A story related by the seafarers,
    Of times long ago,
Of a young princess,
    And the magic gardens she sowed.

It is told, that her father, the king of the sands,
    Betrothed her to a prince in a far, faraway land.
The little princess who so loved, her cherished white shore -
    And, a father's royal command, which she chose to ignore.

Passed on as a fable -
    For many hundreds of years,
A prince from tomorrow,
    A young princess' tears.

Rather than take passage to a frightening new land,
    Leaving her cherished, gardens of sand,
The princess chose not, the easier course;
    She would employ her one, only, tour de force.

An elixir taken in the mid of the night
    Changed our little princess to a dune in the sand.
And even if we fast forward, to this very same day,
    She's managed to evade, the king's pre-nuptial plan.

Now, never more separated from her gardens of sand,
    She sits on the beaches overlooking the tides.
United forever in a union of love;
    Waiting on a lonely beach, with the sea at her sides.

Legend says if you look closely
    In the sunset of eve,
You can see the little princess,
    In her royal garden reprieve.

It's also said, if you hold your ear to the wind,
    Tween' the roaring sounds of the emerald green sea,
You may hear a small plaintive voice calling -
    Enticing an understanding Prince Charming, to come set her free.

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A Small Country Farm

Just a small country farm,
On a small country road,
A sixteen hand draft horse,
A pullin' the loads.

With maize as its mainstay,
Lofty tassels to the wind,
Lowly swine in the barn yard,
Venerable dairy cows in their pens.

Agrarian life's never easy,
Seems there's never a break,
Family somehow surviving,
When their lives are at stake.

Rising together,
With the light of the day,
A symphony -
Like the rivulet, flowing into the bay.

Spouse, his constant companion
Of more than two score years,
Steadfast confidant,
Mid' pleasure and tears.

Preparing his repast,
For a long, grueling day,
Always aware,
Life's time, passing away.

A hearty warm feast,
Of buttered toast, ham and eggs,
Fore' he treks to the fields
On his old, worn-out, rickety legs.

Sunrise to dust,
Ne'er completing his chores,
Will be dark, fore' he comes home
To the wife he adores.

Sowing and planting,
Enriching the soil,
Intrepid old farmer,
No less for his toil.

Every day the cycle,
Of life doth repeat,
Farmer and plow,
In the soil and the heat.

A second-hand Deere
Relieving ole' Sal,
Modern, technology
Not as reliable somehow.

Days on the farm
Are long and they're tough;
Hours pass slowly,
And they're never enough.

Seldom rewarding,
Life rarely sublime;
Going through the motions,
Like the caricatured mime.

A day in the fields
The farmer's true bliss,
His old wife waiting for him
With his dinner and kiss.

The old rustic farmer,
Barely making his way,
On a small country farm;
Just another, routine, ordinary day.

September 14, 2014

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Where Angels Soar

Look up to the Heavens where the Angels doth soar,
To the cascading thunder and deafening roar;
To the loftiest crags of every mountain high.

Hovering far above in cerulean skies,
In our darkest hours, always hearing our cries.
Man but a speck in the infinite sands of time.

Alpha and Omega, finite, infinite sign,
God's most wondrous grace on Earth, His Glory Divine;
Only thru his deeds shall man to Heaven attain.

His cherubs proclaiming, this Heavenly refrain,
Winged Watches warmly wrapping our Earthly domain;
The Earth's one supreme test of man's ultimate faith.

Tween' the blessed, the pure, the vile and the chaste,
Man accedes to Heaven with only His embrace;
Reverence and kindness ne'er guarantee our fate.

Entrance denied or approved at St. Peter's Gate.
Look upward to the Heavens - the Angels won't wait;
Final decisions lay in the Grace of our Lord.

To the loftiest crags of every mountain high,
Man but a speck in the infinite sands of time;
Only thru his deeds shall man to Heaven attain;
The Earth's one supreme test of man's ultimate faith.
Reverence and kindness ne'er guarantee our fate;
Final decisions lay in the Grace of our Lord.

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Lighthouse On the Rock

He lived on the stairs behind the old house,
Sheltered from the storms in his small retreat.
There were four wood steps shaded from the light;
This old lighthouse, high atop the big rock.
Abandoned to time many years ago,
Its foundation crumbling, its roof no more.
Each morning would find the old man awake,
Completing his chores as when he was young.
Later would find him halfway down the dock,
Angling for a catch before the noon sun.
Sometimes his small fish he'd fry in a pan;
Sometimes he'd just dry them all in the sun.
His name was Ron and he'd fought in the War;
He was in Operation Desert Storm.
Ron lost his right foot to an I.U.D.;
Was in the desert, on an armed Humvee.
He was a sergeant in the U.S. Marines,
The one life he always had envisioned.
When he returned home he was lost and scared;
Was nothing for him about which he cared.
His fiancée had left him hurt and broke,
There were no jobs for a busted marine.
It wasn't as if he made no attempt;
He wanted not pity, nor their contempt.
He got a small disability check,
And left town for a solitary life.
The old lighthouse was a beacon for him;
Its reflection glimmered in the sun's light.
Ron came to the light and it came to him;
A remediation vital that day.
A house attached to the tall stone tower -
Life for Ron in his desperate hour.
A beacon in the night it used to be;
A light by day, for the man it set free.
One day, he may again, return to town,
A much wiser, nobler, contented man.
For he has seen nature and made his peace;
The Light of the Lord, has shown him the way.

June 24, 2016

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Castles

Castles
             High walls
     Deep moat surrounding
         In the Dark Ages
             Fortresses

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Ibis

Sacred
Bird of the gods
Long legged wading fowl
Live in wetlands, forests and plains
Ibis

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Cabin By the Wood

A cabin built on the edge of the wood,
Standing alone next to a listless rill.
Near ear shot where the great white oak once stood,
Atop a hammock, some say is a hill.

Standing supreme on a warm summer's eve,
Strong gainst' storms and nature's retribution.
Time the bearer of either ruin or reprieve,
Reckoning day, the final solution.

This cabin is made of timbers of wood;
Humble reminders of man at his best.
On top the meadow where flowers once stood,
Away from the towns, humanity's nest.

A river that was once and is no more;
A bank to the stream as the coast to the shore.

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Sometimes - An Anaphora Poem

Sometimes the mountain, it just can't be climbed;
Sometimes the day, just never seems to end.
Sometimes reality's, more suspect than mime;
Sometimes the answer's, just round the bend.
Sometimes the solution gets lost in the thought;
Sometimes the parable is blown in the wind.
Sometimes we don't necessarily, do that which we ought;
Sometimes man's vanity, is his ultimate sin.

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Home's Where the Heart Is - Revision

Misty lived on the tracks on the other side;
What was perhaps a nice home in thirty-nine.
Now a decaying shell of mortar and wood, 
On the gray banks of a foul, polluted creek.
Windows now boarded, with a loose, hanging door;
Inside was dark, bleak, an austere barren shell.
Electric been shut off for many a year;
Only its doleful ghosts to shed their sad tears.
She lived with her father, a homeless old bum;
They lived off the welfare and a few begged crumbs.
At night she'd come home from her studies at school,
No one the wiser, Misty had them all fooled.
Only just nine, the acumen of a teen,
Her studies she'd do in the light of the lamp.
Her father a shadow of a once proud man:
Old and now lame with but one reason to live.
This sad man, out begging on the streets til' dark,
He'd stay, until all the people had gone home.
The Mission people came that terrible night;
Whisked Misty to the Orphanage - not a word!
Misty never knew her father's sacrifice;
She never knew, how close they'd been to her door.
She's now thirteen and her new life is on course;
Though she yearns for her boarded home on the creek.